


Electric Sheep

by Afterlife



Series: His Name for a Love Song [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Post-Game, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afterlife/pseuds/Afterlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were partners, in every sense of the word.  A couple of failed experiments that found each other.<br/><em>The Valentines.</em><br/>A Nick and Nora story. Second in the "His Name for a Love Song" series.<br/>Set after Be Mine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't actually intended to write more, but this idea stuck with me, and so here we are. A third part in the series is coming, but it's a multi-chapter work and might take me a bit to get up.

Nick lay alone in their bed at Home Plate, and dreamed.

It was always the same dream.

Cold, but peaceful. Quiet and endlessly blue; even through the dark that seemed to surround him.

He didn’t feel unsafe there. But he didn’t feel completely fine in that state, either. 

It felt like a place he wasn’t _supposed_ to be.

A place he just occasionally _fell_ into.

Needless to say; it was a strange dream.

Maybe he needed to defrag his sleep protocols; or maybe, for all the parts the Institute had thought to give him to mimic life, they’d forgotten to program in a proper dream cycle. 

Maybe it was just a memory of Old Nick’s that wasn’t quite coming through right.

Still, the novelty of running his artificial sleep mode hadn’t worn off for Nick yet and it did give the rest of his systems time to sort through themselves. He could put up with the oddity of the dream to maintain it. Nick didn’t dream very often.

Most nights, he just slept. The nights when Nora was around, at least. The warmth of her next to him always kept the dream at bay. The warmth of her always kept him grounded.

Nick stood in that cold, blue, dark place and wondered what time it was. For him, that was the most bizarre part of it all. He never knew the time when he had the dream. His internal clock seemed to ignore his inquiries when he experienced it. He could never gauge the time he’d spent there; except that it felt like forever. Kind of a blissful eternity, really; if he didn’t think about it too hard. 

_Just sleep. All you have to do is sleep._

He wondered how much longer the night would be. Strangely, it didn’t bother him, the not knowing. In that dream, he just waited. Waited for the night to be over.

Waited for forever to end.

And then he _felt_ it. 

It began as a tug; little more than a fluttering pull in his belly. A tingling sensation that ran through his sensor net, slowly lifting him out of the cold and back into the bed. Her fingertips brushed the length of skin behind his ear for a second pass, her nails barely skimming him in her caress and this time, Nick groaned. Christ, it felt _good_ when she did that.

He woke when her lips touched his; coaxing him from slumber in that gentle way of hers. His internal clock came back online. It was half past five in the morning.

“Hey Valentine,” she whispered, the warmth of her blooming through his sensors as she settled in against his bad side. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know she was smiling at him. He could feel it on her lips as she leaned over to kiss him again.

“If this is how you’re going to say good morning every time you get home,” he murmured, pressing his greetings to her this time. “I should let you go out of town more often.”

She snorted at that and pulled his arm free so that she could wiggle closer. His arm followed her form, wrapping itself around her and pulling her fully against him, the exposed metal of his hand tracing lazy circles down her bicep once they’d settled again.

She shivered under his touch. She liked when he did that.

“Don’t say that to Deacon,” Nora said beneath a yawn against his chest. “Or he’ll be borrowing me every weekend.”

Nick’s fingers stilled and he tightened his hold on her ever so slightly. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Everything go all right out there?” 

“Walk in the park,” she assured him. “Got a new synth family settled in Jamaica Plains. Smiled my way through all the stories about us.”

“Don’t tell me Deacon’s still spreading that _garbage_ around,” Nick chuckled.

Nora was playing with his tie now. She always ended up playing with his tie. He never took it off.

“Sorry to say, we’ve become the Commonwealth’s very own Romeo and Juliet...except without all the poisoning at the end.”

“Thank goodness for that,” he sighed and turned over, gathering her into his chest and indulging in the scent of her hair.

She smelled of smoke. Of hubflowers and spice and the dirt that kicked up along the many roads she’d traveled.

He wished now that he’d gone with her.

But it had been Deacon’s turn to take her out for a walk and Nick hadn’t wanted to intrude. He hadn’t been his wife’s only partner-in-crime over the years and much as he hated sharing her with the world, he respected she still had friendships that needed tending. Not that he and Deacon weren’t pals, but Nick always felt like a third wheel when they were all together for any length of time. Nora and Deacon had developed a kind of sibling relationship somewhere along the way and while it was fun to watch, their shared language didn’t extend to anyone outside the two of them.

Besides, Nick’s bashful mode wasn’t much for the current press tour. 

For all the good that he and Nora had done for the Railroad over the years, the war hero and former General of the Minutemen getting married to the famous synth detective of Diamond City had turned out to be the greatest of their contributions to the cause.

If Nora, who had sacrificed so much for the Commonwealth, had settled down with a synth, it gave the rest of the world a reason to at least try giving the Gen 3’s the benefit of the doubt. It was why Deacon asked her along on these trips. She’d become their greatest goodwill ambassador; not for the bodies she wracked up, nor for the battles she fought, but for the love she’d found.

To hear Deacon tell it--which he did _often_ \--Nick and Nora had single-handedly brought down the evil Institute to achieve their fairy tale ending. It was a heaping load of bullshit, start to finish, but the Commonwealth ate it up. A pair of star-crossed lovers fighting to free their people, synth and human alike, from the underground monster that had threatened them all. Such skillful propaganda hadn’t been seen since pre-war days.

And much as he valued their privacy, even Nick couldn’t deny the good their story was doing out in the world, embellished as it had become. 

The Railroad was finally thriving again. What with the Institute gone for two years now and without the constant threat of attack from the unknown, coupled with the Minutemen safeguarding the roads, people’s fears began to calm down enough to where the public relations work could begin. It wasn’t all roses and afternoon picnics just yet, but slowly, people were beginning to accept the Gen 3’s and something like peace was forming across the ruins of Boston. 

Deacon and his pals had done their damnedest to turn the Institute into the real Boogieman and the synths into underdog heroes and so far, it seemed to be working. Nick hoped this was the foundation of real change. They’d certainly sacrificed enough to see it happen.

Not that he was complaining, mind you. Whatever nightmares he and Nora had woken to in the Commonwealth had eventually grown into a dream. And while the rest of the world could romanticise their torrid love affair, Nick would always favor the truth over the lies.

They were partners, in every sense of the word. A couple of failed experiments that found each other.

_The Valentines._

He used to joke that every scumbag in the Commonwealth would come to know their names, but he’d never expected that name to be a shared commodity between them. It was hard not to think that one day he’d wake up to find the whole thing had been a glitch in his memory drives, but Nora was always quick to quell his fears. Nick knew he’d found happiness. Someday, he knew he’d believe it was actually his to have.

“Mm,” he felt the tips of her fingers sliding between the spaces of his closed shirt buttons. “When are we heading to the office today?”

Nick helped her pop open one of the buttons and sighed as she eased her hand in, skin to synthetic skin.

“Office is closed today,” he kissed her brow.

“On account of what?” She traced the shorn edge of a panel, tickling the exposed steel of a rib.

“On account of a husband not seeing his wife in two days,” Nick worked three more buttons free.

“That sounds serious,” she purred, letting her lips linger against his jaw. “Think we should work the case?”

He groaned and slid his good hand down the length of her side, memorizing with his palm the lithe line of her torso that teased him beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. His fingers eased around the curve of her backside and hit the edge of thin lace. 

She wasn’t wearing her jeans.

“Dunno if you’re dressed for this kind of investigation,” he managed as she nipped at the corners of his mouth with feather-light ministrations. “Things might get _rough_ …”

“I might like it rough,” she murmured, her lips a breath from his own. She pulled his good hand up, guiding it beneath her shirt, until it brushed the underside of her breast. “You’re probably right about the shirt though.”

“Definitely don’t need the shirt,” he agreed, swallowing the words as his lips met hers. 

He rolled atop her, gracelessly. Nora wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and pulled him forward with her heels. Nick rolled his hips into hers with a retaliatory growl.

The tension they’d teased at rose to a frantic hunger. Lips sought lips and hands pulled desperately at the cloth that stood between their meeting skin. He’d barely freed her from her t-shirt, when her fingers began tugging at the zip of his trousers. Nick rushed to undo the last two buttons of his shirt and though he managed to get it open, he failed to get any further in his undressing; her clever hand was already around him. The first gentle tug and he arched over her, his elbows pressed hard into the pillow beneath her head, his brow touching hers and riding out the sparks racing through his sensor net. He gasped when she moved to stroke him again.

 _Good God_ , she’d be the death of him.

Catching hold of her wrist, he stilled her movements before she ruined him. He directed her hand above her head, wrapping her fingers around the metal bars of the headboard, before delivering her other hand to a similar position. Nora eyed him now through her long, dark lashes. Nick sat back on his heels between her spread legs. Both were panting. Both were waiting.

She smiled wickedly up at him and bit her lip in challenge.

Nick was undone. Both good hand and bad slid under the thin lace and cotton at her hips, dragging the scrap of cloth down her pale legs in one smooth motion. Her blue eyes met the yellow glow of his gaze and they locked, half-lidded; waiting. Nick threw her briefs carelessly over his shoulder. He loosened his tie with one hand. He drew his trousers down farther with the other.

Nora tilted her head back coyly and smirked. An invitation.

He crawled back over her, his length sliding between the slick folds of her sex. She shuddered beneath him; he shuddered above. She was beyond ready for him. She was always ready for him.

He filled her with the next stroke and before the pleasure could consume either of them, he thrust his hips again. And again.

And _again._

The air between them was electric, their eyes firmly set against one another, their ragged breaths the only sound. He fucked her hard and deep and fast; one hand gripping the bedsheets beside her shoulder, the other clinging to the top of the metal bedframe between hers.

Part of him always worried that he’d hurt her. Part of him always wanted to take it slow; to writhe gently against her, each undulation infused with love like in the old romance pulps. Part of him wanted to take his time and savor every moment in her arms.

But as his hips jerked against hers and whispers of “Harder, Nick” echoed from his wife’s lips in the dawn, he moved with wild abandon.

It was always like this for them. Hard and fast and inelegant. He desired her to the core of his mechanical heart; would always desire her, _had_ always desired her, and he fucked her with a passion to demolish the millimeters that separated his body from hers.

It was like constantly trying to outrace the end of the world. To beat the clock. To fill the need that threatened to consume him so completely each time they touched it was all he could do to keep thrusting.

They built their pleasure in the turbulence of their sex-driven storm, and threw love songs to one another through their met gaze. Their way of speaking to one another was always washed in flirtatious teasing, but when they came together, their bodies spoke without any possible misinterpretation.

All or nothing; this was _love._

He felt her break beneath him and her ending sparked his own. She called his name and the smoke in her voice suffused his sensors with a white hot heat only she could manufacture. He fell with one last thrust, burying himself deep and lost to the possessive look she caught him with. Lightning dashed through his synthetic skin and he was done in.

In the moments after, both shaking and finding the other’s lips in reassuring comfort that they were both still whole and satisfied, Nick wondered if it was like this for other people. This all consuming love and need that bloomed and radiated and exploded whenever they touched. If Old Nick had known this sort of intense desire, Nick the Synth couldn’t remember it. Nora set him on fire and he wanted to burn. She made him frantic to consume and be consumed. She made him want her in a way he’d never wanted for anything.

Nora curled into him, her breath still uneven, and her kisses still pressing along the remains of his throat.

“I’d say we nailed that case.”

Nick laughed then; the sound full and honest.

“You know,” he studied her wistfully, pushing strands of her wayward dark hair behind her ear. “I think Old Nick would have loved you.”

“The only thing that matters is how _my_ Nick feels,” Nora’s fingers edged along his jaw in a gentle caress. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

“Word on the street is, that guy _adores_ you,” the teasing fell out of his voice as he looked at her then. “Might be, I know a detective that could help you find out for sure, though.”

“Think he’ll want to take me on?” Her knee slid up over his hip, pressing herself against him.

For a moment, Nick’s eyes fluttered shut.

It would always be like this for them. He was sure of it.

“Doll, you’re _all_ he wants,” he rasped out, pulling her lips to his. “And he won’t rest until you’re satisfied.”

When they finally slept, it was after noon. 

Nick lay beside her, in their bed at Home Plate, and dreamed.

He didn’t return to the cold, blue place, however. Instead, he dreamed of a tiny apartment, near the waterfront off Monroe and Third. He dreamed of waking to the smell of _coffee_ and the roses from her makeshift garden. He dreamed of her sitting in the big bay window, wrapped in an old quilt they’d made together, and reading.

He dreamed of calling out to her. Of her blue eyes meeting his for a moment, before she smiled at him, the sunlight at her back, illuminating the dark length of her hair.

“Hey Valentine,” her voice slid over his name; always like smoke over water. It was the way she said _‘I love you’_. Spoke volumes more than those three words ever could. She put everything into his name. “See something you like?”

“Depends,” he started towards her, his stride smooth and unrushed. “What have you got on under that throw?”

“My best evening dress,” she let the quilt fall from one slim shoulder. Freckled skin was the only thing underneath.

“Scandalous,” he shook his head, unable to hide the grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Dunno if I want the boys down at the dance hall seeing you in this outfit.”

“Better give me a reason to stay in then,” Nora reached for him.

“How’d I get so lucky,” he slid his right hand beneath the throw as his left tangled in her hair.

“You’re a great detective,” she murmured as their lips met. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

His heart raced and they stayed like that awhile, the silver of their matching rings winking in the light of the morning as he made love to her again.

_It was a good dream._


End file.
